Withdrawal Symptoms
by Lara Isley
Summary: The Scarecrow has been in Arkham Asylum for three months, but to release him Becky must sacrifice Nightmare's hidden identity to the public. When the Batman finds out she's been moonlighting as a costumed criminal, will she accept his one offer of help? (Sequel to Addiction)
1. Rescue

**Disclaimer: I stake no claim on DC's Batman.**

 **Author's Note: So this is the opening to my sequel for _Addiction_ , which I posted some years ago but uploaded a significant rewrite of last May. Although it shouldn't be impossible to follow this story without reading its prequel, I'd like to recommend that you do, purely because of references to events and developments in Becky's character.  
** **Otherwise, I hope you enjoy...**

* * *

The van's tires crunched innocently across the potholed gravel. We passed through the imposing gates that cut off Arkham Asylum from civilization. I was in the passenger seat, heartbeat drumming appropriately and gloriously fast. The collar to my suit jacket itched and my high heels felt like they were about to fall off, but I told myself it was worth it. It would all be worth it.

My eyes stared out of the windscreen, following the long, poorly kept road up to the main entrance. Three months had disappeared while planning this endeavour. I had last seen Jonathan being arrested on a rooftop not far from where I was now, and in the weeks after countless reruns of his capture on the news channels. Each one had made me ache a little more.

"Remember what I taught yer," Harley Quinn said in the seat beside me. Her appearance was the most casual I'd ever seen it. Even on Sundays she painted her face white and her lips red, but today she was in the guise of a hired driver, with loose clothes attempting to disguise her enviable physique. Harley's chipped nails tapped the wheel despondently.

She had been staying with Ivy for nearly two months, ever since her latest break-up. It was a topic I carefully avoided.

"I will," I said, a genuine smile pulling my lips apart. "Your expertise is incredible. This wouldn't be happening without you."

"Aw gee, I feel a blush comin'," Harley giggled and pulled the handbrake, stopping for yet _another_ set of security checks. She rolled down the window and greeted the guard with a coy smile. None of them recognised that this young girl with a deliberately smudged face had already done time in the facility they protected. None of them knew I was someone to recognize, yet.

"Paperwork?" the tired security guard reached up for our right to pass. I didn't miss the way he missed looking at Harley's face.

"District health inspector, annual visit," she explained to him, slightly colder now. Her Brooklyn accent was subdued.

After flipping through the aptly forged papers, the guard waved us on and we rode steadily towards our goal. I took hold of my clipboard and resisted the urge to chew my scarlet nails.

"Yer cool, confident and in control," Harley reminded me. "I'm wantin' those shoes back, by the way."

I laughed and my nerves settled just a little. It scared me to think that those nerves weren't just caused by the impending heist. I didn't know what had happened to the Scarecrow in the months gone by. Had he given up on escape? On…me? I felt guilty for each moment his predicament had slipped my mind, even though Ivy had done well to distract me.

Back when Harley had first joined us, when she had insisted daily that life was overrated, Ivy had taken us on an excursion to terrorize a particularly despicable man. Apparently he was the CEO of a rapidly expanding industrial company, but he had turned down an action plan to make said company environmentally friendly. The simultaneous attacks of fear toxin, laughing gas and pheromones had created a highly amusing result, as well as kick-started a long and complex process that Harley called _sisterly bondin'_.

After that, I had frequently visited them at the oriental health store they stayed at in Chinatown, which Ivy charmed the owner of.

The van stopped one final time, jolting me back into the present. Jeremiah Arkham himself was waiting at the asylum's entrance for me. Although he looked small and slightly withered compared to the security officers either side of him, I could feel his contemptuous gaze being magnified by his frameless glasses. He and the guards began approaching the van.

"I take it yer'll be findin' a place with yer mister once this is all over," sighed Harley.

"Most likely," I nodded. "Red won't put him up, they aren't exactly friends, and going back to mine is out of the question after this."

"Well, best of luck. At first I thought yer were a strangely quiet one, but yer and Red really helped me pull through somethin' bad. And this lil' stunt is my way of sayin' thanks. Tell Scary I say hey," she shot me a devilish grin and I winked at her like she had taught me.

"I'll be in touch. You take care of yourself," my smile then frosted over as the door on my side opened. Harley quickly turned her face away. I looked directly into the rude stare of Arkham's chief psychiatrist.

"Hello, Ms. Goshawk," he said as I stepped from the van. The gravel felt dangerous under four inch heels, but my professional stance wouldn't have said so. Behind me, I heard Harley roll away. She would be parking the vehicle outside of my escape route, just off the island, and then she'd make her way back to Ivy's hideout.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Arkham," I forced myself to offer a handshake. My tongue strained against a stutter.

Cool, confident, in control.

I had been born the opposite.

"Your visit is a pleasure," Arkham said, in a tone that implied I was little more than a pesky mosquito. We began our walk to the double doors, the guards drifting idly at our shoulders.

"I certainly hope it will be," I sniffed. "I am sure you've heard that the standards have been significantly adjusted since my department's last visit."

"At Arkham, we aim to offer a secure, recuperating environment for all our patients," the head psychiatrist intoned.

My visit was tedious and long-winded and the amount of paperwork I had to fill out didn't improve my mood. It felt like I had to flash my fake ID before each door. I was sure I only saw the parts of the asylum that Jeremiah had hastily rearranged for my visit. Before I could check out the patient's treatment, I had to inspect every other facility, some of which made my stomach turn over.

There was only one person I _really_ wanted to see here.

Jeremiah's persistent explanations did well to undermine my authority, but each step I took knocked it back into me. Harley's suggestion of a navy suit with red heels may have been exceedingly uncomfortable, but at least I didn't come off as a timid schoolgirl.

"I believe it's mandatory for me to inspect at least one of your high-level security patients. Of my own selection," I pointed out coolly.

With an almost inaudible sigh, Jeremiah pulled out a miniature tablet from his white lab coat and showed me the screen. His stylus flicked lazily through what was no doubt his list of favourite patients.

"Jonathan Crane?" I suggested, seeing the name flash up.

"To block B, then," said Arkham. "Are you sure you wouldn't prefer to see-"

"I'm most sure, doctor," I interrupted.

Hesitant and grumbling, the head psychiatrist led me on.

I tried to get my pulse to match our pace, but I couldn't keep it under control. Three months I had waited for this. It had been tough, trying to carry on Jonathan's research without his guidance. The general public had heard of Nightmare since her and Scarecrow's attack on the asylum. They had also heard, after Jonathan's incarceration, of the second attack on the psychiatrist Dr. Kellerman, the terrorizing of Crane's current therapist and of the numerous others who had attempted to dissect his thoughts during his previous confinements.

I just hoped all my efforts weren't going to be in vain.

I wrestled down the grin as the cell door loomed ahead. Already I could see the nervous glances that passed between the guards. My impromptu inspection would no doubt uncover things the asylum staff had wanted to gloss over.

The next stage of my plan was going to be a piece of cake.

A guard slid open the window in the cell's door.

"There's a health inspector coming in," the man announced gruffly to the patient inside.

"I am surprised he got so far without declaring this place deficient," a familiarly scathing voice replied.

I bit my lip expectantly.

Arkham's own electronic key opened the cell door, revealing a badly lit and altogether dismal space that was barely furnished. Or even large enough to be furnished.

Despite the straitjacket that restrained him, Jonathan was leant against the wall in what was probably meant to be an intimidating manner. I found it endearing. To say he looked thinner would've been a lie. It wouldn't have been possible.

The expression on Jonathan's face bordered on bewilderment. The malicious intent vanished from his startling blue eyes.

"The security for this area is appalling," I told Arkham hotly. "Do you think an electronic key is an appropriate method of protection?"

"This is the _master_ key," Arkham tried to point out. "There are guards posted outside each door to the hallway. We ensure this block has no blind spots in the internal cameras and you're welcome to view the footage-"

"In your warm, mold-free surveillance room?" I asked. "Yes, that would be lovely, wouldn't it?" Then I lifted a foot and brought it down on the cell bed's rusted metal frame. The kick was more powerful than it looked. It snapped the beam holding up the sorry excuse for a mattress. Harley had taught me more than just false confidence over the last three months. "Far better than this room, no doubt."

Arkham looked like he was about to vomit indignation.

"Destruction of asylum property-"

"Would never have occurred if this asylum had been aptly equipped," I finished for him. "I want you to move this patient _immediately_."

"Very well," the head psychiatrist said stiffly. He turned out of the room and the guard's eyes followed him. I took the opportunity to glance at Jonathan. He raised a dark eyebrow, intrigued. I wanted desperately to hold him, to sort out his quite frankly messy hair, but for now I confined myself to an impassive wink.

"Move it, Crane," one of the guards said, forgetting that I was meant to assess the patient's treatment as well as the functionality of the actual building. "I mean, er…"

"All is forgiven, Stanton," the Scarecrow smiled nastily. "I am in a good mood today."

I pursued Arkham into the corridor and then the two guards that had escorted us flanked Jonathan. They were both a head taller than him, but neither appeared to find that a comfort.

"The only available cells of more recent renovation are in block F, on the ground floor," Arkham announced, as though the short walk would put me off.

"It's nice to know you have some," I replied, fighting the urge to say _I know_. Red had mesmerized a new surveillance officer earlier in the week, shortly after doing the same to the man who had forged my documents. I had the current whereabouts of over half of Gotham's most dangerous criminals on my phone.

Once in block F, I took my time inspecting one or two other cells before making my decision.

"Are you certain?" the head psychiatrist inquired, looking around at the scratch marks crowded on the walls. "This one _is_ scheduled for restoration soon. Its last patient was most unstable."

Its last patient had been Victor Zsasz, who had recently disappeared through means unknown to Arkham's staff. How they weren't aware of the hidden passageway was beyond me. Clearly Jeremiah wasn't as sharp as his double first psychiatric degrees made out.

"Despite the interesting décor, this room just scrapes past basic requirements," I folded my arms. One guard then made for the door with Arkham, but my work wasn't done. "I'd also like to ask D- Mr. Crane some questions." My announcement was diminished by my slight falter. No one seemed to notice, but inside I was cursing.

"Very well then, Ms. Goshawk. Both guards will be-"

"Waiting outside," I insisted. "I wouldn't want the patient's opinion to be influenced in any way."

Thoroughly disliking what I was suggesting, Arkham tried to get his way one last time before giving up.

The door shut with a metallic clang. When the ringing faded, all I could hear was the sound of my own heartbeat.

"Finally," a relieved voice breathed in my ear.

"I couldn't get here any sooner," I apologized, turning to kiss him as though we had only been separated yesterday.

"I should be glad you could get here at all," Jonathan said.

"Did you think I wasn't coming?"

"I had my doubts," he admitted, but then his wicked smile returned. "So what are those questions you wanted to ask me, Ms. Goshawk?"

"Are you ready to escape?" I grinned.

"Am I ever," he rolled his eyes.

I tore off the straitjacket and then began hunting for the entrance to Zsasz's secret passageway. It wasn't where Harley predicted it would be.

Taking my phone from my pocket, I illuminated the path before us as Jonathan sealed our escape route. The architects had once laid down a concrete floor, but it was marked and dirty and treacherous. My heels clicked loudly in the gloomy, dripping darkness.

"It took ten hours of practice to walk in these things," I told Jonathan. "Kicking a metal bed frame apart took four."

"Sounds like you have kept busy while I was away," his tone was indecipherable.

"Busy planning your rescue," I reminded him.

The further we walked down the passage, the more it smelt like mold. My phone's flashlight was only so bright and I started dreading meeting someone down here. Whoever they were, they wouldn't be pleasant.

Whether he noticed a hitch in my breathing, or a stumble in my walk, I didn't know, but Jonathan was suddenly beside me, long fingers enveloping my shoulder.

"If my prediction is correct, it is unlikely to be much further," he said, not feeling the need to whisper in such a place. I figured being immune to all fear had its advantages. "Remember Zsasz would not have had a flashlight."

I sighed loudly, because of course he was right. I told myself that we were the scariest things down here. I always told myself that when insecurity wormed its way into my brain.

Sure enough, the path sloped upwards to a peeling blue door. Then we were inside a disused warehouse near the docks. The air was chilly but not unbearable.

I grinned as I imagined Arkham's face back at the asylum. He had undoubtedly opened the door to Zsasz's cell by now and discovered our disappearing act.

My heist had been successful. Jonathan was free.

"Is there a plan from here or should I take over?" he asked.

"I've got this," I said. "Harley should've left the van nearby."

"Harley?" Jonathan seemed surprised. "Harley Quinn? I assumed Poison Ivy was working with you."

"They both say hi. Well, actually, Red said something less polite. We've been a bit of a trio these past few months," I informed him.

"I see," he said reservedly.

I wasn't sure what he had expected me to say and I didn't have time to recount everything that had happened in his absence. The docks weren't a peaceful place and I wanted to be away from them as soon as possible.

We left the warehouse and not a hundred yards away was the van that had dropped me off at the asylum.

Harley was nowhere to be seen, but the van doors were unlocked and the keys were in the ignition.

"Now it's your turn," I said to Jonathan as he climbed in the driver's side. I slipped my feet from Harley's shoes. "Pick a road and drive."

The engine grumbled as it woke up, but we still had half a tank to get us wherever we needed to go. Jonathan seemed to have an idea, taking us away from the embankment and into the shadier part of the city.

"And I didn't even need Catwoman's help," I muttered triumphantly, as I stared at the passing streetlamps. The sun had sunk into a puddle of its own murk while we had been in the secret passageway. "I tried to get in touch with her first, but she never replied," I explained.

"Maybe you should fill me in on your activities over the past three months," Jonathan suggested.

I sat back and unbuttoned my suit jacket, telling him how I'd been staying between mine and Ivy's, after she had taken in Harley, and how we had assaulted that contemptible CEO. He was especially intrigued when I told him about the research I had carried out on blending Ivy's pheromones with fear dust. It was a continuation of what he'd formulated for the Penguin, as the result had been a more substantial form of mind control. My next plan had been to turn it into a solution.

Jonathan gave an appreciative laugh after I mentioned my experiment on his latest therapist.

"I did wonder why she resigned so suddenly. I was halfway through a mind game with her myself," he said. "Did you get any further on synthesizing a toxin for shared hallucinations?"

"I…uh, I was dedicated to developing the fear dust, if I'm honest," my eyes were fixed intently on the road and the scant few cars that passed us.

My tongue held the strange aftertaste of a lie.

Synthesizing any form of fear toxin was a struggle for me, and not just because of its complexity. Even though Ivy had healed my body after I'd abused it last year, and given me a resistance to it, I knew I couldn't handle putting it back in my system. I _wanted_ to. Sometimes the temptation hit me when I least expected it. But if I crossed that line, if I experimented with sharing hallucinations myself, I wouldn't be able to stop.

For some reason, I couldn't say that to Jonathan's face.

Suddenly, the van braked and my heart leapt. A pair of headlights swerved close to our windscreen.

"My mistake," Jonathan murmured as the other driver carried on down the adjacent road. "Was he indicating?"

"Are you OK?" I asked bluntly.

"It...it is hard to tell. I doubt the drugs from my last treatment have stopped working yet," he confessed.

"Hell, I should've thought of that," I shook my ahead apologetically. "I should drive-"

"It is not that much further," argued Jonathan, starting to move again. I clenched my teeth shut and hoped we didn't encounter any more drivers. "Where is all this research you did, by the way?"

I jerked my thumb to the back of the van.

"Red and I went back for everything you had at your old lab," I said, not mentioning how all _my_ essential possessions were back there too. "Sorry I couldn't drop in for a visit."

"I am surprised you went back to Arkham after nearly being arrested," he said.

"Did you think I'd just leave everything behind?" I asked resentfully.

My ears felt the sandbags of silence.

"Yes," he said quietly. The van stopped. "I thought there would be nothing to stop you returning to your old life."

He didn't look me in the eye as he spoke.

"What old life?" I laughed harshly. "I have nothing to go back to, Jonathan. _This_ is my life."

I took his face in my hands and kissed him hard.

* * *

 **A/N: Drop me a review if you want to put a smile on someone's face. I'm open to all criticism.  
And thank you for reading! **


	2. Normality

**Disclaimer:** **I do not own Batman. If I did, he'd be paying off my student debt.**

* * *

The place Jonathan had chosen was a derelict maisonette above a liquor store of similar appearance. He claimed he'd visited the place often when he had first moved to the city, but this area had actually had business back then. Now, it was quiet, dark and desolate.

I didn't mind. I could call anywhere home if Jonathan was with me. He moved to the back of the van, obviously with the intent to unload it. I frowned. I knew we had to get rid of it, but surely it could wait until the morning?

"I hope you brought _all_ my notes. Did you figure out the combination to the safe or did you bring the entire thing with you?" he half muttered. I coughed pointedly as he reached for the latch, placing one hand against the closed door and summoning his gaze. "Is there a problem?"

"I haven't seen you for three months," I said bluntly.

"Yes, but I am sure those months were far more enjoyable for you than for…" he ceased rambling. "I see."

"For such a smart man, you can be surprisingly obtuse," I said. Temper flashed in his eyes, but I didn't give him the chance to be angry with me.

Sometime before sunrise, I fell asleep easier than I had since the his arrest. No one was coming for us here, but even if they were, I had the very Master of Fear beside me to chase them away again. His rhythmic breathing lulled me to sleep.

When I woke up, his side of the bed was empty.

I dragged myself out from under the covers and put on the blouse I had worn yesterday to the asylum. I followed my trail of clothing downstairs.

Once down there, I discovered that Jonathan had already unloaded the van. A quick glance out the window told me he had ditched the vehicle as well. He was wide awake and dressed in more familiar attire, reading through my sporadic notes in a chair surrounded by science equipment.

"What a quiet operation you had going on here," I commented. Even after speaking, it took him a moment to register my presence.

"You looked too sweet to disturb," came his flat, delayed reply. He still hadn't looked up from reading.

I went over and took the notebook away from him, only to be rewarded with a disapproving frown.

"Your experiments are intriguing, and not just because I despise your subjects," he continued. "Did you bring any more samples of Ivy's pheromones?"

I drew in a breath and froze.

"No," I confessed. "It slipped my mind, but I can synthesize some more of the hybrid dust from-"

"That would not do," Jonathan interrupted. "Not for developing it."

"I brought all of your older research about shared hallucinations," I gestured to the boxes strewn around the pitiful sitting room. I guess I should have expected things to go back to this so quickly. This was normal to the Scarecrow.

"Marvellous. I'm curious as to why you did not experiment with that in my absence, what with your natural aptitude for manipulating them. The power of your subconscious is rather incredible."

I could feel myself blushing, even though his compliments made me queasy. Had he forgotten my addiction? My cardiac arrest? There was nothing that could make me risk messing around with the pure fear toxin again.

Jonathan set about analysing the fear dust I'd formulated, while I began unpacking the boxes. One of them held my clothes.

I would try to distract him, but the interludes could only last so long. His mind was centred on his work. Eventually I gave in and joined him, ignoring how the bottled water I had brought with us was the only thing of sustenance in the maisonette. I felt my assistance to his work was more appreciated than anything else.

My life had been test tubes and vials of green liquid for too long, however. I didn't have the same devotion that Jonathan did. I had thought that I would get back the time I had spent on continuing his research, but this didn't appear to be the case. To compensate, I decided that his work might now be useful for something I'd put off while terrorizing his psychiatrists.

"Do you think the Iceberg Lounge would be a good place to experiment with a mass hallucinogen?" I asked. I was perched on a worktop in the kitchen, swinging my legs like I used to back when our hideout had been the abandoned Arkham labs.

"If we convert the pure toxin into a gas, we run the risk of making it ineffective. The results from our last attempt were inconclusive," Jonathan said, eyes glittering under the strip lighting. The kitchen's fluorescent tube flickered irritatingly and I was surprised he carried on in such poor conditions. Maybe his time in the asylum had diminished his standards.

"Is that a no? You won't help me get my own back on the Penguin?" I slid off the worktop and closer to him. "He did send someone to kidnap me in my own home. He hit me, twice, which I hate. Did I tell you about what his guards did to me in his kitchen?"

Now I had the Scarecrow's attention.

"Anyone who touches you will suffer, I promise," he said. "These guards-"

"They were traumatised when you invaded the Penguin's manor," I said. "It's their boss I hold a grudge against."

Jonathan's piercing gaze remained fixed on me, not on his work. I didn't complain.

"I should have come for you sooner," he said. "After I heard Catwoman had tried a rescue attempt, I went to find her, so I could devise the best way to reach you."

"You never mentioned this," I said.

"You never mentioned what happened before my arrival," he replied.

"I nearly died of boredom," I sniffed indignantly. I recounted for him how I had met Catwoman, while she was in the process of robbing the Penguin. "The worst experience I had was when the guards tried to carve me up with the kitchen knives, but, even then, it was only because I couldn't defend myself. Between yourself, Red and Harley, that's all changed."

"You have changed," Jonathan gave his crooked smile, intending his words to be complimentary. "I did notice at the asylum…and afterward."

"How observant of you," I remarked.

"I am a scientist. It is in my nature to be observant."

"I thought you specialised in the science of fear, not in the science of Becky," I pointed out.

"Educate me, then," Jonathan murmured.

Our lips were millimetres apart when a timer went off elsewhere in the kitchen.

Jonathan drew away instantly to check on the most recent development, leaving me to drum my irritated fingers on the worktop.

I began another hopeless search of the cupboards, desperate to find something. My desperation didn't make a difference.

"I'm going to solve our famine crisis," I announced. Outside, the city was being consumed by gloom, but I knew any business in Gotham stayed open after dark.

Jonathan didn't say anything and I sighed, wandering back through the sitting room. I found my phone and the money I had emptied from my bank account. I also tucked my laptop under my arm. Perhaps a stop somewhere with Wi-Fi would be nice.

At the door, I called back once to make my departure known.

"Wait, where are you going?" his voice came closer and he appeared in the sitting room's doorway. "This area is unfamiliar to you."

"I can take care of myself," I told him, proud of the fact this was true. Prior to my kidnapping, I wouldn't have dared step outside in a place like this. "I saw a strip of shops when we were driving in. Maybe they'll have something worth eating."

"If you are not back in an hour, the whole street is getting gassed," Jonathan declared.

"You're so sweet," I grinned, closing the door after me.

The road we had just moved into was a sketchy street that I didn't take my time walking down. Just two blocks over, however, I encountered a collection of takeout places and convenience stores all competing with each other. On the corner was a diner that I'd have felt a lot safer entering if Jonathan had been beside me. Even if I could throw a punch, it didn't mean I was looking for a reason to.

I slid into a booth away from the other diners. There weren't many and they weren't noisy. They all had their heads down while muttering to each other. The booth I had chosen was barely lit and I think only one man looked up to notice my arrival.

A thin and listless waitress came over to me about ten minutes later, her fingernails were broken and her lipstick smeared.

She didn't say anything.

"Coffee, please," I said.

She wandered off.

By this time I had already booted up my laptop and was checking my e-mail. Perhaps carrying a computer around this part of the city was a risk, but I felt sure it was worth taking.

Jonathan was right. I had changed. Before, when I had crossed people in the street, most would've eyed me up as a victim. Nowadays they seemed to think twice about that. It felt like I always wore Nightmare's mask when I stepped outside, and though she carried a cane, it was purely decorative.

As I waited for my drink to appear, I glanced around at the rest of the diner's clientele. An amused smile twisted my lips as I considered how oblivious they were. Nightmare may not have been this city's most infamous masked criminal, but they still had no idea she was sitting in the same room as them.

My eyes drifted to the television hanging above the bar. According to the weather anchor, it was going to be dry for the foreseeable future.

It felt odd how I hadn't watched the news since living with Ivy. I used to tune in every day.

The waitress returned with my drink and deposited it next to my laptop. I could tell she had spilled some of it on her way over and tried to mop it up.

I sipped at the coffee, knowing it was cheap and nasty but liking it anyway. Over the past few months, I had been living on an almost vegan diet with green tea as my only hot beverage. Ivy's protection came with a price. But then again, Harley had sneaked out with me every week to grab a pizza or something. I was sure Ivy could tell, but she could never hold a grudge against the other woman.

Sighing tiredly, I scrolled through my practically empty inbox. Aside from the reliable flood of junk mail, the only other contact I'd received had been from my old university. I had submitted some data as part of a survey they were conducting on future careers. I had lied through my teeth, seeing as 'masked criminal' hadn't been one of the tick-boxes.

Still, my replying e-mail had proved I was alive.

Sometimes I wondered if all that education had been a waste. Should I have used it? Gone on to become an attorney or something in law?

I remembered a statistic about how many lawyers were shot or abducted in this city and my doubts flew away.

I was about to shut down my inbox when I spotted an e-mail I had missed amid the phoney advertisements.

It was from my mother.

I sucked air between my teeth and took another enormous gulp of bitter coffee. I had forgotten how much I'd dreaded this. The minute before I had been kidnapped by the Penguin, I had sent word to my mother announcing my graduation. Her congratulatory reply had only been sent a few days ago, which wasn't unnatural, but unlike normal she wasn't confining herself to just an e-mail. She wanted to meet, to celebrate.

How was I meant update her about my life since last autumn?

Hell, was I in trouble. I thought my mother was the worst of my worries, until I downed my coffee and turned my attention to the TV screen once again.

The Scarecrow's breakout was being televised on the news channel.

I closed my laptop, took it under my arm and went up to the bar. I tried not to look too flustered as I stood there for the waitress. She appeared from the kitchens and looked at me expectantly.

"I, uh, um," I closed my eyes and breathed through my nose. I couldn't afford to be like this. Caging the panic inside me, I put on Harley's winning smile. "Could I have two burgers to go?"

"Fries?" the waitress asked.

"Please."

My eyes flicked back to the screen above her head. An interview was being shown with a very resentful and frustrated looking Jeremiah Arkham. I imagined any kind of publicity for him was a rare, unwanted thing. He was better at keeping secrets than keeping dangerous criminals under lock and key.

I shifted uncomfortably as I waited for the food. I didn't want to look at the other customers, in case they felt my stare and noticed me. Angling my head, I let a curtain of tousled auburn hair hide my features. From the side, anyhow.

Just as the waitress came back out with a slippery carrier bag of food, a clip of asylum security footage started playing. It showed the head psychiatrist walking down a corridor beside a health inspector.

Beside me.

My legs felt weak and my jaw felt heavy. Adrenaline saturated my brain but I couldn't let my anxiety show.

"Thanks," I said with aching cheeks, taking the food in a numb grip.

The waitress sniffed and looked up at the TV, just as they identified my face on the news. Alongside a fuzzy still of the health inspector, whose suit looked remarkably sharp, there was a better quality university photo that made me look like a doll. The name Rebecca Albright was emblazoned underneath.

The waitress looked back at me.

"I always preferred Becky," I said and took out my purse. I left a _very_ generous tip.

As I made for the exit, ignoring the oblivious customers, I saw the waitress's reflection in the glass door. She counted the money, smirked, and said nothing.

* * *

 **A/N: Thank you for the read, and don't be afraid to let me know what you think.  
Also a special thanks for the follows and the comments on the previous chapter, your interest keeps me going!**


	3. Infamy

**Disclaimer: Don't own Batman. If I did, reckon auctioning him off to the mercy of a rich supervillian might help with more than just tuition fees...**

* * *

The food was still hot when I got back to the maisonette, but it was dumped unceremoniously on the counter. Away from the experimental science equipment, of course.

I then waited for Jonathan to finish tinkering with whatever toxin he held.

"You look frightened," he said curiously. "Does the Mistress of Fear find this side of town too intimidating?"

"This side of town is lovely," I bit out sarcastically. "Security cameras, on the other hand, are a pain."

"I doubt any of them still work in this area," Jonathan assured me.

"The ones at the asylum did."

I didn't know why I was panicking. I had known this was going to happen the moment I'd started planning the heist with Ivy. My old life was a sacrifice I'd been willing to make, but now it had happened, my head was spinning. I had thought I had nothing to lose. Since my mother's e-mail, however, I realised that wasn't quite true.

What would she think if she saw that news report?

"Ah yes," Jonathan's thoughtful voice dragged me out of my head. "You are infamous now. Congratulations." He came over and kissed me unexpectedly. "Welcome to the world of Gotham's worst, my dear. It is terribly fun."

"Are you sure I'm cut out for it?" I asked quietly.

"I wouldn't have wanted you to join me if I thought you were incapable," he said. Then he glanced over at the carrier bag. "Hungry?"

As we ate in the sitting room, he scrawled down the day's discoveries and I sat contemplating what to say to my mother. It was difficult, not knowing what she currently knew about me. Not knowing if I was being tracked down by the cops.

Or the Batman. He wasn't someone I had wanted to make a direct enemy out of.

It wasn't as if I could even air my misgivings to Jonathan. With his family matters being so much more twisted than mine, the idea just felt uncomfortable. The story he had told me about his grandmother made me shiver every time I remembered it. Would he understand if I told him how apprehensive I was about the possibility of seeing my mother again?

Pursing my lips, I took out my phone and flicked through its extremely minimal contact list.

Red?

"Do you think it'd be a bad decision to make a phone call from here?" I asked after finishing my hamburger.

"Have you changed your phone and number in the past three months?" Jonathan replied. His blue eyes were inquisitive. "Why do you need to make a call?"

"I just want to get in touch with Red," I shrugged a shoulder. "And yes, I change both those things every few weeks."

"Then we should be alright," his gaze returned to his work. "But seeing as you saw her yesterday, I fail to understand why calling her is necessary."

"I wouldn't expect you to, it involves a degree of sociability," my barb was softened by my smile, but I still ran upstairs to the bedroom.

The number I rang didn't actually belong to Ivy. It belonged to the health store in Chinatown. Still, the owner picked up after three rings.

"Wéi, nín hǎo Cheng. It's Becky," I said. The man on the other end responded and then went to find Ivy. He said her name with such adoration I had to fight the laughter. Poor man.

Even from the other end of the phone line, I could hear the poisonous seduction lacing Ivy's voice.

There were some things I would never get used to.

"How's the house hunt with Scary going?" she asked. I knew, instinctively, that she was blowing a kiss at Cheng.

"We…found a place," I said. "I suppose it's upmarket compared to what I could be in, but the décor lacks inspiration."

"If it doesn't have a glass roof you can open, the building isn't worth living in," Ivy sighed dramatically.

I gave a genuine laugh, for the first time since the breakout.

"I thought you'd be occupied for a while," she went on. "What made you miss me so soon?"

"Actually…I wanted to meet. To talk. I got an e-mail from my mother and then I saw my face on the news and…" I tried to explain, but like usual the words didn't want to come out of my head.

"Surely Scary can give you advice on infamy. He's lost plenty because of it," Ivy's tone was neutral.

"Yes, but I can't talk to him about my _mother_ ," I sighed, exasperated.

There was silence at Ivy's end.

" _Interesting_ ," was her next word. "I'll stop by for a visit, shall I? Where are you nowadays?"

"I, um…" Was it a good idea to mention this down a phone, just in case? I knew Jonathan wouldn't be happy with Ivy knowing where we were.

"Did your man order you to keep your mouth shut?" she asked.

"That's not how it is," I snapped. "People are going to be out looking for me now."

"And you don't trust me, even after the last three months?"

"I trust you, Red, but not this phone. I'll tell you where we are when we meet," I compromised.

"Splendid," Ivy still sounded a caustic. "I won't be free for another fortnight, though. I've got some busy plans, which I'm certain you'll hear about on that news you're so attached to."

"I'll look forward to it," I said.

Those busy plans of hers did in fact get some coverage, which I happened to catch at the diner after a late night's work with Jonathan.

One of the main advantages he saw in the economic downfall of this area was the amount of homeless people it had caused. To his mind, they were subjects he could experiment on without immediate consequence. Often we would go out into the dark and, a reasonable distance from where we stayed, select two subjects who wouldn't be missed if things turned sour.

"Would you care to join them?" Jonathan asked as they sunk into that terrifically frightening stupor.

"I think we should confine the experiment to two variables," I'd reply, licking dry lips.

Each night I would lie awake in bed while Jonathan either slept or worked on downstairs. I smothered any guilt under a burning hope that I would soon have revenge on my former kidnapper. My desire was so extreme it nearly frightened me. Not long ago, hadn't I been the kind of person to let go, forgive and forget? Then I remembered being helpless and beaten to the floor. Never again was I going to be weak or dependent and the Penguin was going to find out in the worst way imaginable. No, I wasn't the forgiving type. I was just good at hiding it.

After experimenting until two in the morning, the diner was the last place open. Seeing as I hadn't eaten since waking up, and the place looked somewhat empty, I decided to risk a second visit. My mask was folded away inside the long, brown coat that hid Nightmare's attire. I still drew up my hood before pushing through the neon-lit doorway.

I wanted to know what the waitress's reaction would be to my presence.

Drumming my fingers on the countertop, I waited until she appeared from the bright kitchen. She started once and then sighed irritably.

"We're closing in twenty minutes," she told me, tone blunt.

"That's not a problem," I said coolly. "Is it too late for a burger and fries?"

The waitress raised a dark eyebrow.

"I wondered if you'd come back," she said. I dropped my hood and sat on a stool by the counter. "There was a favour I wanted to ask you."

I tilted my head in surprise.

"Is it to go to prison?" I said. The waitress laughed and I recognised the rasp in it as a smoker's.

"You're not the worst person to come into this place. Far from it," she shrugged. "I have a policy – whoever can pay, can stay."

"Pay isn't an issue," I shrugged back, reaching into my pocket for the cash I had. It was going to run out sometime, I knew, and I would have to be a lot more forceful if I wanted the Scarecrow to do the shopping, terror style. Food wasn't a priority to him, especially now he had begun his latest experiments. Unless he asked for it, I knew it was pointless bringing anything back for his benefit.

Just as I was about to place the bills on the severely scratched counter, the waitress stopped me.

"There's this man…he and his friends have been giving me trouble," she admitted, telling me his address. "If you could…do your thing, I can get you dinner on the house. Anything you like."

"What's your name?" I wondered aloud.

"Denise."

"Well, Denise, you have yourself a deal," I extended my hand and she shook it once.

"Hamburger and fries, coming up," she said. "Drink?"

"Double whisky," I sighed. I had tried avoiding drink while living with Jonathan, but the reality was I had too many thoughts and anxiety kept me up at night.

So that was how, at two in the morning, I ended up watching an entire board of directors getting rushed to hospital with Ivy's poison turning their veins green. According to the news anchor, their company produced Gotham's second most popular herbicide.

I doubted they would recover from their ordeal.

Satisfied that Denise wouldn't be informing anyone that I was in the area, I found my way back to the maisonette with the drink still warm inside me. My low tolerance would no doubt work in my favour tonight.

When I came through the door, I found Jonathan passed out on a chair in the sitting room. I wasn't surprised. His mask, bourbon and notebook were arranged neatly beside him, but his eyes were shut and his mind was lost to the world. I wondered if he planned tomorrow's work in his dreams.

I planted a kiss on his cheek and made for the stairs.

Turning back, I snatched up the drink he had poured for himself and took it with me.

That night my dreams were strange and disorientating. My head spun constantly as I wandered through a maisonette painted black and blue by the dim moonlight. My mouth was parched and my brain ached for something it couldn't place. I stumbled into the narrow kitchen, recognising all the equipment that had been laid out from before the dream.

Was I hungry? I searched the cupboards and left them open out of sheer frustration. I was sure I had put something in them. I tried drinking something but the glass fell before it reached my mouth.

My hands shook.

I collapsed into one corner, prying open the last unsearched cupboard with numb fingers. Smoky opal-green and beautifully rich, acidic amber, the vials of fear toxin glimmered tantalisingly inside.

I wasn't strong enough to resist it any longer, not after a fortnight of constant exposure. When I had been with Ivy, I had been conveniently distracted by her plans, or Harley's, or my own. But not now.

I reached for the toxin like it was a cure.

How I managed to dispense some into a syringe, I couldn't remember, but the next thing I knew, the kitchen light was flickering on.

"Rebecca?"

This wasn't a dream at all.

"Oh hell," I breathed.

Quick, deft hands caught the syringe before it landed on the tiles.

"Rebecca, did you take any?" Cold, rough fingers on my cheeks. "Becky?"

"No," I sighed, the last of the sleep leaving me. I looked at the broken glass, the open cupboards. They weren't empty anymore. "Thanks for coming when you did."

I looked up into Jonathan's blue eyes as he knelt there in front of me. A dizzying wave of déjà vu overcame me.

"I thought you were over this," his harsh voice broke through my clouded senses.

Tears came to my eyes but I brushed them away so they couldn't fall.

"I thought you had a brain! Surely you should've figured my… _dependency_ wouldn't just disappear, even with Ivy's help," I told him. My rebuke seemed to knock any aggression out of him.

"Maybe I was hoping it had," he said quietly. "While I was at the asylum, did you ever-"

"No," I shook my head. "I…struggled, making the toxin, trying to carry on your experiments. Ivy would make sure I was never around it long enough to…"

"To give in to it," Jonathan finished for me. He had stood up and placed the syringe on the worktop. "Have you taken any since living here?"

"What? No. You would know if I had."

"Would I?" he asked bitterly.

"Don't you trust me?" my chest felt tight at the thought of him shaking his head. "I think you should know, offering me a place in your joint experiments hasn't exactly been helpful."

"If it is so difficult for you to be around the fear toxin, why did you try to continue my research? Why do you come out each night?"

"Because I…you _know_ why," I said, pulling myself up. "And I thought the feeling was mutual, no matter how distant you act. Tell me now if I'm being as stupid as I was last time."

Jonathan drifted over to the cupboards, shutting them and stashing away the fear toxin. The glass fragments were kicked angrily to one side.

"Don't think I'm letting you walk away from answering that," I told him.

"The only one who was stupid last time was me," he said unexpectedly. The bitterness had returned. " _You_ should know that even thinking about what happened to you is…" His fist clenched and he couldn't finish. "I should never have exposed you to the toxin after Greenvale. I think you forget that I abused it as well. I should have seen the addiction coming for _you_."

I drew him close and held him.

"I can't blame you for what happened to me," I said. "You had to use the fear gas to save me from the Penguin."

"I can get you through this, Becky," Jonathan promised. And when he dedicated himself to something, he became obsessed with it. From anyone else, the extra attention would've made me extremely uncomfortable, but from him, it was an almost welcome indulgence.

"Are you going anywhere other than to see Poison Ivy?" he asked me on the day I was meant to meet Red. I had just mentioned Denise's offer to him and was about to make for the door. It had taken some convincing to stop him attacking both her aggressors _and_ her, just to make sure her mouth stayed shut.

"No," I told him, slightly exasperated but also slightly pleased. "We're meeting at the old allotments a block over and then she's taking me to Chinatown. I'll be back in a few hours."

"Make sure no one sees your face," Jonathan reminded me.

I closed the door behind me, wondering if he was actually relieved to be alone with his work for once.

The old allotments looked like a unique habitat of their own, made from mud and brambles and wire mesh. Whether natural or manmade, everything had grown together into a miniature wilderness that hadn't produced an edible thing for years.

Six minutes late, Ivy's majestic method of transportation erupted from the soil, a giant flower head opening around her.

"You're lucky these boots are hardwearing," I muttered as I tramped over to her. She smiled demurely enough to make my heart flutter. "Harley would never have walked this far for you in her favourite shoes," I tried to say so pointedly, but my conviction faltered the closer I got.

"Speaking of," Ivy said. "She asked if you could return those heels she leant you."

"I have them here," I held up the things, dangling from there satiny red straps. "How is she, by the way?"

The bulb closed as I stepped into the middle of it, surrounding us in darkness. But not before I caught a glimpse of Ivy's disgusted expression. The bulb dragged us underground and carved a self-sealing tunnel back to the health store. On moving in to the place, I had chipped away the brittle concrete that lined the basement floor, until there was a patch of earth big enough for Ivy to travel through. Now the whole place damp, padded with bubbly moss and dark, sinister arrowheads of fungi.

As the flower head decomposed, Ivy and I climbed the stairs up through Cheng's storeroom to his apartment above. The skylights had been opened above his quaint little dining area. Two mugs of green tea steamed on the table.

I could hear the owner downstairs, speaking with a customer.

"Where's Harley?" I asked.

"She went back to _him_ ," Ivy nearly spat. "I can't believe, after everything I've done for her, she just…" I watched as Red swallowed her anger and composed herself. "Still, I should've expected this, I suppose. She always puts him first. Even before herself."

I put a consoling arm around Ivy and sat her in front of the tea. I took the chair opposite.

"But anyway, we're here to talk about _you_ ," she beamed radiantly. "Did you reply to your mother?"

"Not yet," I said uncertainly, sipping tea to buy time. "She wants to meet and I have no idea how to reply. She wrote to me before the breakout so now…"

"You're a wanted person," Ivy grinned. "How do you think she'll react to that?"

"It'll go one of two ways. Either she won't give a damn and say she saw this coming, or she'll have a hit squad waiting for me when I turn up to see her," I shook my head wearily. "She's so unpredictable. It'll depend on her mood."

"How did she handle the Greenvale incident?" Ivy then asked. "The trial?"

I bit my lip.

"She said it was a good experience of the courtroom, so I would understand more when I became a lawyer or something," I recalled dully.

"And how does she feel about the man who was held responsible?"

"I think she sort of…dismissed him as a madman and detached from the fact I'd actually been caught in his experiment. Maybe she was desensitized to it. This city's seen so much crazy now," I thought aloud.

Remembering the Scarecrow's trial felt strange. It seemed like a different lifetime, like I had been another person and it hadn't been Jonathan in the stand opposite.

And now my mother knew, or would at least find out, that I had practically eloped from the law with this man.

"I won't be able to talk to her now, will I?" I realised.

"I'm glad you've figured that out for yourself. If she does keep contacting you, just suggest meeting up at a place she'll hate," Ivy told me.

"That's not bad advice," I mused, taking another mouthful of tea.

"I didn't think your sweet little mind would come up with something like that by itself," Ivy sighed. I noticed she hadn't touched her tea. In fact, her green skin looked slightly less luminous and slightly more yellowish.

It was then that her comment hit me.

"Sweet little mind?" I echoed.

"You may be a masked criminal on the news, but I still see the Becky I saved at Arkham." I didn't know what to make of that. "What's your next diabolical plan with the Scarecrow?"

"Revenge," I sighed longingly. "The Penguin's favourite venue is about to become part of Jonathan's latest experiment." I remembered his need for Ivy's pheromones and started thinking of the best way to ask for them.

"That's bound to attract some attention," Ivy tapped her teacup thoughtfully, but still didn't drink any. "Have you set a date?"

"Not yet. I'm responsible for finding out when the Penguin will be in house," I wrinkled my nose. Ivy's smile turned enticing.

"I may have heard a little something through the grapevine," she announced temptingly.

Apparently, one of the men she had poisoned the other week had been a frequent patron of the Iceberg Lounge. He had heard that the notorious owner would be present this Friday.

My visit to Ivy was short lived, and soon she was returning me to the grim allotments with a sample of her favourite weapon. Requesting it had been embarrassing for me and highly amusing for her.

"Take care of yourself," I said to her.

"Surely I should be saying that to you," she narrowed her eyes accusingly.

I smiled vaguely and returned to the liquor store, wondering how severely Harley's departure had affected her.

On opening the front door, I found a surprise waiting for me.

"Is this _food_?" I blinked out of shock, staring at the bags strewn through the kitchen. It was exceptionally messy now, but I didn't care.

"I thought my next test should be conducted on a store manager," Jonathan said airily. "It proved remarkably useful."

I told him Ivy's information on the Penguin and Jonathan's smile twisted as it emerged.

"Fancy going on a date?" he asked.

* * *

 **A/N: Many thanks for making it to the end of the chapter! All comments welcome. Until the next update, then, wonderful readers.**


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